The days of December remembered
The grief that I thought I knew was a stranger masked anew.
Sometimes lines of poetry come into my head. There was a time when it was fast and frequent. I’m sure I could get it back, but I just don’t spend the time to think like that very often. I did this morning though.
My morning read of late has been the new Brene Brown, Atlas of the Heart, and I appreciate a lot of her work on learning our feelings, embracing them. In the last year, I’ve learned to label and respect the nuance of grief. I hold it close like a threadbare tee I can’t sleep without for fear that the memories embedded in what’s left also leave when I finally let it go.
But it really doesn’t work that way. You can’t ever truly let go of it. We grow around it. We feel numbed. Today…this week, I’ve felt emotionally paralyzed. Feeling my tears on the inside trying to escape, but they can’t.
Fresh pain pulling the scars of the old
Wondering when, wondering how
we’ll find the remnants known by the few
Song of the day: Heart of Saturday Night, Tom Waits
